


center of the universe

by JadeClover



Series: star-hewn colossi [13]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeClover/pseuds/JadeClover
Summary: Between endless matters of business, with nothing but the stars, her emperor, and herself, Haggar allows a rare moment to indulge in comfort and serenity.





	center of the universe

**Author's Note:**

> Second fic for the Zaggar Zine ([@galrashipzine](https://galrashipzine.tumblr.com/)). I tried a bit of a different style with this one because it seemed to fit, and I think it turned out nicely.

The elevator glides to a seamless halt, the span of her lord's audience chamber stretched before her. Quieting her footfalls by long-ingrained instinct, she steps forward, a thoughtless familiarity in every facet of the motion, the mark of an act repeated many thousand times before.  
  
Habit.  
  
Projected viewports span from floor to darkened ceiling, the stars rising around her; distant worlds' light and curls of nebular gases line her approach. Her lord waits in his throne, a solemn figure hewn in armor and wine-red mantle, and she alone moves in this timeless space, slowly drawing nearer to grandeur, to greatness. The effect strikes at the heart, stills it. Unseen at this distance, her lips turn up; she designed the chamber precisely for that purpose.  
  
( _The stars at all sides, the throne a pillar at the end of the hall—power as an art form, awe as a science, like her lord is the force at the center of the universe. In the way of planets, of stars, of galaxies, all spins in orbit around him, for he is the emperor of every world._ )  
  
"Haggar."  
  
Her footsteps slow. She stills. The bounds of comfortable habit keep her head low, no need to meet his gaze, but beneath her hood, her ears angle, alert and unseen.  
  
"Sire."  
  
Now she does lift her head, her eyes finding his at last and flitting away the moment after. His own gaze settles on her, heavy, keen, pondering, but the silence slips back in like a tide, filling the cracks between them, alive in the air—a comfort.  
  
Here is where they would speak words of business, of rule, the workings of conquests and laboratories laid between them, but ticks pass and the silence lingers, lasts— _complete._  
  
( _The stars spin around them, bright and burning. The chamber's quiet fills the air, millennia settling around them like a shroud, a familiarity never turned stale with age, a universe that is theirs alone. No other forces exist but for them, and they are together—their existence as it is meant to be._ )  
  
She steps forward. No purpose to it, no meaning to the action, but she moves regardless, etiquette and protocol shattering before her with every step. She only stops when his space becomes hers, when she stands directly before her lord, her legs fit into the narrow space between his, her knees barely brushing the edge of his throne. She cants her head down, and the barest raise of his chin locks his gaze to hers. Violet eyes narrow, blinking, content, a subtle and benign gesture she returns with easy, thoughtless instinct.  
  
Galaxies spin out in her mind's eye, encircling the two of them and what little space remains between. A whim moved her closer, but a rare, carefree peace keeps her there. "How fares your empire, sire?" A useless question, as in no skewing of reality must she ever _ask,_ but her lord will not care if for once her standards slip and the nonsensical and mundane find a way in, if she wears the guise of anything but a stoic, fearsome high priestess when they are alone.  
  
( _And alone they are, in the eye of a storm of existence—a universe alive all around them, but its forces kept at bay, barred by walls and starscapes and the command of an emperor._ )  
  
"As it ever does."  
  
But his reply means little, his words just as empty and insignificant as hers. Far more meaningful is the weight of his gaze upon her, searching, and his hand lifting from the arm of the throne to settle at her waist. Gauntlet-covered fingertips curl feather-light into the drape of her robes, and a small shift of his fingers offers a suggestion. So strangely calmed and satisfied is she, she needs no more encouragement to let him guide her closer. Such a rare, bold move for beings as subtle as they, but her lord knows an invitation when she stands one before him. The hand at her waist shifts, fingers loosening and settling into a grip far more natural, more secure. A low rumble echoes deep within his chest, only audible for the nearness between them.  
  
What little space still separating them gives way. She curls forward, hands braced against cool armor, her forehead resting lightly against the curve of his helm. It remains there, just for a single tick, and time slows. The universe stills. Her eyes close, and all her strict rules of propriety fall away until she finds her body shifted, her weight supported entirely by his. She draws her feet up and braces them against the seat of the throne, curled on his lap alongside the unyielding shapes of pauldron and chestplate—easier this way, to lean into him and let him do the rest.  
  
( _Something of the feel of her lord in his armor—some aspect of it she cannot name, a tangible sense of strength, of power, a force too limitless to name... It settles something within her—_ satisfies. _Privately, she always a imagined a core at the heart of the universe, and it felt like this: Unbreakable, immutable,_ absolute.)  
  
( _The universe has no center. It expands out from all points equally, losing linearity in metaphorical dimensions, bending the mind's mundane understandings, but in some primal way, believing a center exists soothes the spirit. Her entire being was awash in cosmology from the moment her memory began, and she is far too strict to deny its laws—but the study of the universe is not solely a physical science... and if the center of all exists, she knows where it is._ )  
  
Her lord's arms close around her, a rumble shivering in his throat. The feel of it echoes through metal and cloth and skin, its faint recollection lingering long after the sound fades. "Is this what you came for," he asks, "or did you have another matter to discuss?" The low, curling tones of his voice ripple through his entire form.  
  
"Hm." She leans closer, her eyes closing in a too-long, too-relaxed blink. "We will speak of it later." Its importance dims, urgency fading into nothing at all. His resonant rumble through chest and throat ( _all too reminiscent of a purr_ ) laces sound with pleasure, weaves acceptance into satisfaction; he agrees.  
  
Now she lets go of the last threads tying her to reality, the parts of her mind still bound to research and reason. All existence stills around them, and she curls closer to her lord as the shapes of him and her allow, willing for once to set aside matters of business, of progress, to grant herself a rare moment of indulgence.  
  
In the silence, a kind of peace settles between them, around them, filling the air and not fading...  
  
( _...here at the center of the universe._ )


End file.
